


That's Not A Knife, This Is A Knife

by a_nonny_moose



Series: Egotober 2017 [7]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Genre: Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-10 23:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12310131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Wilford bothers the Doctor-- a normal Halloween activity takes place.





	That's Not A Knife, This Is A Knife

“Hey, Doc, have you seen the peanut butt-- Is that a _body_?”  


Dr. Iplier looked up, covered to his elbows in cadaver. “Wilford,” he said, huffing a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Last I checked, the peanut butter was behind the fruit bowl.”

“We have a _fruit bowl_?” Wilford’s eyes flicked from the Doctor’s face to the blood pooling on the exam table, brow furrowed. 

A shrug, and the squelch of Dr. Iplier wresting a chunk of organ out of the depths of the eviscerated person’s abdomen. He held the piece of flesh of to eye level, squinting. “It’s the thing filled with fruit.”

“Right.” Wilford watched as the Doctor put the organ aside, on a tray lined with paper. Blood and bile soaked into the paper, pooling, and the Doctor wiped his hands. “Uh, whatchya doing, Doc?”

“Routine,” Dr. Iplier muttered, bending back over the body. “If you don’t mind, Wilford, I really do have to concentrate.”  


“Of course.” Wilford took a step back towards the door, eyes still fixed on Dr. Iplier’s work with a kind of intense fever.   


Dr. Iplier lifted a scalpel from his workstation, his other hand holding back an open incision. Carefully, he lined up the blade, fingers steady and precise as a surgeon's, and began to make a deeper cut; the moment the blade touched the skin, it began to seep pus, pooling under the skin, dangerous-- he had to work quick--

“What is _that_?!”

Dr. Iplier had the presence of mind to pull the scalpel back as he jumped about a foot in the air, nearly landing on Wilford, leaning close over his shoulder. “Wilford,” he scolded, catching himself on the edge of the table, breathing hard. “you can’t just _do_  that.”

Wilford’s eyes were fixed on the scalpel in his hand, and he pointed at it. “What is that?” he repeated, glaring a little.

Dr. Iplier sighed. “It’s a scalpel. A knife,” he added, seeing confusion flicker across Wilford’s face. 

Wilford scoffed, stepping back. “That’s not a knife, Doc,” he said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Right,” Dr. Iplier said, turning back to his work, at the liquid half-dripping, half-coagulating on the side of the body. “Well, I _really_  need to focus, Will, so if you could--”  


“ _This_  is a knife!” Dr. Iplier looked up in time to see Wilford holding up a long-handled blade, shiny under the surgery lights before he plunged it hilt-deep into the corpse’s thigh. “Hiyaaaaaah!”  


Dr. Iplier folded his arms as Wilford giggled, looking at his work. “Are you done?”

“Aw, c’mon, Doc.” Wilford withdrew the knife, teeth glinting as he surveyed the blood webbing across the blade. “You’re no fun.”  


Dr. Iplier shook his head. “I’m trying to make something here, not destroy it. Not that you would know anything about that,” he muttered, turning his back. 

A shadow passed over Wilford’s face. His voice light, he twiddled the knife in his hand. “Try me.”

Something about the way he said it made the Doctor turn around, back stiff. “Why?”

“Maybe I can help.” A dangerous carelessness.  


Dr. Iplier caught the glow of Wilford’s eyes, the slight smile to his lips, the way that his attention was wholly on the scene before him. His fingers, for once, still. Maybe he could be useful, after all. 

“Well,” the Doctor said, stepping closer, grinning widely at Wilford over the dead body between them, “have you ever heard of Frankenstein?”


End file.
